


Here comes the sun.

by DoYouHearThePeopleDeduce



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, i cant write, im sorry, only one person dies don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:20:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoYouHearThePeopleDeduce/pseuds/DoYouHearThePeopleDeduce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As summer arrives, Grantaire finds his life changing with the seasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Here comes the sun.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay this is a new multi chapter fic I'm doing. I have a general idea of how I want this to go and I hope y'all enjoy it. The first chap is pretty short but shh. I'm just introducing it all. If you have any questions, or are super crazy for an update, my tumblr is pakalu-papito.tumblr.com

Rows of pews with people upon them, all decorated in black, filled the humble church. Neither boys had been particularly religious, but then again neither boys organised this. It was silly, really. How was one supposed to set up the burial of a loved one so soon after their death? The only thing going through his mind at this very moment was how much he'd give to be in that coffin, besides his loved one. To hold them once more. They'd deny it later, but later as he was leaving the said church, friends behind him, he swore he felt the gentle touch of the boys hand, squeezing his own once more. A phantom farewell.

 

* * *

 

 

England in the summer can be a half decent place. Trees green, bearing blossom and fruit, who's beauty Jehan would undoubtedly write about. Nature rightfully claiming the land, butterflies like confetti in the air, dancing around the people that filled the streets. The warmer weather tended to bring out the nicer side of people as well, the sun brightening not only the land but those on it as well. Especially Grantaire, the first signs of summer spark a noticeable happiness in him. Though in all fairness, he does work outside usually. So the slight hatred towards the harsh winters is understandable. As an artist and a painter, the summer brought him a whole new array of things to work on. Whilst painting was a hobby for him, or a wasted talent he once heard his grandmother say, photography was his career. It wasn't his dream job, but he had no place to really complain. It was for a newspaper, things which he'd never really complained much for, but it paid the debts. Well, not quite but it got him by.

This day was an exceptionally warm one, the temperature some way about 25 degrees, and he'd been sent to photograph a protest that was due to take place on one of the campus'. Which didn't particularly excite the man- he'd been to plenty before. All they were were delusional people chanting about 'changing the world'. He just saw it as a waste of everyones time. Standing on a podium shouting isn't going to change the world anytime soon, neither would anything else though really. It's a doomed planet, he believed. No matter how much a person tries to make it a nicer place, there will always be another doing the opposite. Nothings ever going to change really. His beliefs had long since given him the nickname as 'the cynic'.

A protest on fracking, something Grantaire hadn't even heard of until today, was definitely not his cup of tea. Nevertheless though, by 12pm he found himself skirting the campus, dressed down in a pair of denim shorts, plaid shirt and a black beanie pulled over his unruly curls. He was quite aware that he wasn't the most fashionable of people his age, but fuck whoever complains. The sun on his back did pull him slightly out of his somber mood as he shifted through the crowd of hippies and revolutionists, shouting about _chemicals_ and _hydraulic fracturing_ and _ozones_. Grantaire really couldn't care less. If only he could just get a better view of the main speaker, he'd be able to take his pictures and leave. In what felt like hours but was probably minutes, he finally broke free of the crowd. It wasn't even that big, just a small protest on a university campus. They happened all the time.

Then a new voice joined those on stage. A voice that was like the personification of silk, but stronger. Photographing suddenly lost all of it's interest and he could only focus on that voice. It was as if he'd fallen in love with simply a voice. That was until ofcourse he laid eyes on the speaker. 

Jehan would be able to write poetry simply about the way the sun reflects off of his golden curls, the way his burning blue eyes pierce through everyone, of the way his posture and arms move and twist with passion. He found himself itching for a sketch pad, an easel, anything so he could just recreate this beautiful work of the gods. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that this man looked like he'd come straight down from heaven. It was as if Apollo had joined us mere mortals on earth. And was for some reason protesting about fracking at a uni in London. 

This job suddenly became far more enjoyable.


End file.
